


Could You Love Me More?

by MehLordOfMeh



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, No one knows Ratchet is alive again, Optimus has a great time, Optimus is a lot more knowledgeable in science and medicine, Optimus stays evil AU, Ratchet doesn't have a good time, Ratchet has an artificial spark, Resurrected Ratchet, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:00:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25161268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MehLordOfMeh/pseuds/MehLordOfMeh
Summary: What happens when Optimus doesn't fully get rid of the darker side of himself after he defeats Quintessa and saves the Earth from being absorbed by Cybertron? While Nemesis Prime floats just below the surface of Optimus' subconscious, Optimus fails to realize the subtle changes his mind is going through. He chalks up the trouble controlling his anger with the stress of everything that has happened, of the war being over now and the loss of his oldest and dearest friend. His friend...Ratchet.Suddenly spurred on by some unknown desire to see if he can cheat death after its claimed someone and encouraged by the defeat of Quintessa, he gathers the remains of Ratchet and the element Transformium- or by its proper name Sentio Metallico. With everything he needs in his servos he retreats to a ship and disappears to Cybertron, telling only Bumblebee he is leaving but nothing more. There, he gets to work rebuilding and resurrecting Ratchet.Will his obsession with his old friend change once they are reunited?  Or will he fall further into corruption?
Relationships: Nemesis Prime/Ratchet, Optimus Prime/Ratchet
Comments: 21
Kudos: 50





	1. Without You Here

He sat near the berth in the lab, helm in his servos as he listened to the beep of the spark reader. It was slow, so damned slow. It wasn’t a healthy spark rate. He knew it wasn’t. He lifted his helm, optics gazing at the still and grey form of his friend, of Ratchet, who’s chassis was opened. The frighteningly faint light that shone from the core was off-colored, not the typical Blue or even the off color of Green. No, this was a Purple- no Lavender. The color of Corruption. He had done it, his friend was alive, yet the spark was as cheap as an imitation could get. 

His own spark twisted, aching in his chassis from more than just sadness. He had used a sample of his own spark energy with the idea that being a Prime would allow his spark to give direct life as Primus had been able too. Though it worked, it didn’t work as well as he would have wanted it too. He could feel his spark twist, yanking him from the seat and forcing him to turn away from his friend's glorified corpse. Servos to his helm, he grabbed the kibble there and gave a snarl as his engines growled. 

Over the sound of energon rushing through his cables he heard an insistent beep that increased to an annoying degree. Then a groan. His body froze, plating tensing as he let his servos slowly fall to his sides. His helm only turned when he heard a static-laced voice choke out his name. He turned so quickly he tripped over his own pedes, stumbling forward but caught himself on the edge of the berth. His optics were wide, watching as Ratchet drew up a servo and rubbed it down his faceplates as if he had just woken up from a heavy recharge and hadn’t just been brought back from the dead. 

He watched the chassis close before he moved, standing up and reaching for the other. He helped him up, spark pulsing with happiness and pride, for he brought the dead back to life. He is grinning, he can feel the way his derma is pulled back over his denta. He chuckles, optics clouding with optical fluid, with tears, because he has him back. He did it. 

“Optimus? Wha...How?” Ratchet’s voice is clear of static, he must have reset it while he was helping him into a sitting position.

“They still had your body and were hoarding Sentio Metallico. I simply took back what was rightfully ours and came back to Cybertron to repair you.” He spits out the word They, hating the taste on his glossa, yet can’t stop smiling.

“Cybertron? How are we-” Ratchet looks confused, his field bursting with it and an underline of fear. Oh, that isn’t good.

“A femme, Quinetessa, the False God, brought Cybertron to Earth- to Unicron. I defeated her yet Cybertron remains in the Earth’s solar system. I had a ship that could take us here and so I did and I healed you.” He says with a nod, servos gently rubbing into the metal of Ratchet’s shoulders. 

It seems to ground the other mech, giving him something in the here and now to hold onto as he processes this new information. Ratchet’s optics search Optimus’ face for any sign of lying before he half blinks. Ratchet’s servos struggle to find something to hold so they weakly grab at his front, panic filling the others' field. Optimus pushes his own field out, reassuring and comforting; it doesn’t appear to do much good.

“I was dead! I died! L-Lockdown, the Humans, they hunted me down and-and-” He can’t bare to hear those words so he slams his body against Ratchet’s. 

He holds the other close, arms wrapped around him in a protective hug. He feels Ratchet’s body tremble in his hold, feels the way his vent hitch and how he buries his head in the space between his neck and shoulder. He runs his servos along Ratchet’s spinal strut in a soothing manner, turning his own helm so that his derma pressed to the audial fins of Ratchet’s helm. He gently kissed them, pulling back only slightly when he heard a new hitch from Ratchet.

“What- Optimus?” His friend's voice is confused again, wavering with the underlying fear and trauma still floating so fresh to the surface. 

He shushes him gently, one servo moving to cup Ratchet’s helm. He suddenly feels overwhelmed, Ratchet- the mech he cared the most about, who he had lost- is sitting right in front of him, trembling in his arms. He doesn’t want him trembling. He looks into Ratchet’s optics then trails his optics lower down the others face. He stares at Ratchet’s parted derma, they are much more lush then they were before, the Sentio Metallico still soft. He decides he wants Ratchet trembling, but not from fear. 

He leans forward, practically devouring the yelp that leaves the others vocalizer as he hungrily kisses Ratchet like a starved mech. He presses himself further onto Ratchet, guiding the other to lay back down on the berth. He pulls away some only to crawl over Ratchet, trapping the other under him. He settles between Ratchet’s legs, servos running up thighs then sides and finally fondling over Ratchet’s chassis.

“Ah- Optimus! Wait a minute! What are you- Ah!” Ratchet throws his helm back, arching up as the oversensitive seams along his chassis are rubbed. 

The cries are enough to send him over the edge and his panels aren’t even transformed away yet. Why hadn’t they had this relationship before? Was it the war that kept them apart? The reason didn’t matter, he had a second chance at having Ratchet exactly how he wanted him and he would not lose him again. He leans down, presses their derma together again as he rocks his hips, panels colliding as he does so. He swallows the gasp from Ratchet’s intake, engines purring as his servos snake down between them. 

At the briefest of touches his panels slide away, but Ratchet’s body is still fresh and bound to not fully understand what’s happening. He pulls back, leaning back on his pedes as he focuses on finding the manual release that will help Ratchet’s panels transform away. He chuckles softly as Ratchet throws his own servos over his panels, grabbing them easily with one of his servos- was he always this much bigger than Ratchet?- and pins them above the others helm. With one servo gently fondling the transformation seams he leans forward again, brushing his nasal ridge against Ratchet’s.

“I know you are eager but let me take care of you, my dear.” He purrs, glossa coming out to lick along the other’s derma before presses another hungry kiss to them.

He can feel the moment Ratchet surrenders to him, submits like a good mech to his Prime. He moans into the others mouth, giving a full body tremor as he feels Ratchet’s panels move aside for him. He instantly sinks two fingers inside the warm valve, his fingers coming to a barrier. A seal. He pulls back from the kiss, nipping down the others jawplate before taking an energon cable into his mouth and sucking. It's an action that has Ratchet squirming, hips bucking up as words tumble from his mouth. 

He regrets that he doesn’t fully pay attention to what Ratchet is saying, but he catches the ‘Please’ and ‘Optimus’ and that’s all it takes. He leans back, pulling his fingers from the tight and wet valve. Keeping Ratchet’s servos pinned he uses his free servo to grab his spike. He gives himself a few, unnecessary pumps, before guiding his spike to the fluttering entrance. He presses the head of his large spike to the smaller valve, noting Ratchet will be a tight fit, before removing his servo from his spike and placing it on Ratchet’s hips. 

He presses down as Ratchet arches up off the berth, tutting in disapproval of almost slipping up Ratchet’s valve instead of into his valve. He leans forward, growling as he presses his hips down as hard as he can. In a few seconds he is sinking deep into Ratchet, the seal not being able to withstand his spike. He moans as he stops with half of his spike in his friend, no, his lover. 

He releases Ratchet’s servos, which instantly grab onto his shoulder plating. He rumbles with pleasure, pressing their chassis together as he begins to pull out. His now freed servo goes to Ratchet’s chassis, fondling the seams that hide the spark he gave him. He begins to frag the other, each thrust in going a little deeper then before until he is pushing fully inside him before pulling out, the tip of his spike the only thing still in Ratchet. He can feel the others body being rocked on the berth, knowing there will be blue smudges between Ratchet’s thighs after they are done.

He bows his helm, running his glossa along a seam that runs down the center of Ratchet’s chassis and it clicks open finally. The desperate little cry Ratchet gives spurs him to open his own chassis. Servos push at his shoulders, helm tilting down before Ratchet’s body tenses. The tensing has him buckling forward, speeding up his pace as he brings servo up to grab Ratchet’s chin. He forces the medic, his medic, to look up at him. He stares at the tears that streak down his faceplates and the pain in Ratchet’s optics. Regret swirls in his spark for only a moment before their spark energies begin to tangle together. 

They both moan, he lets Ratchet turn his helm away in favor of wrapping his arm under his upper back. He pounds into the other, pressing their chassis’ and sparks together. Energy crackles along their bodies, electricity zipping from one point on Ratchet’s body to a random point of his own. His optics offline to the feel of Ratchet’s servos holding on to him for purchase and his pedes wrapping around his waist.

Suddenly Ratchet’s valve cycles down around him, squeezing his spike to a point it hurts before fluid is rushing out around his spike. The new, freshly overloaded valve takes him easier and he growls, the entire berth shaking with his thrusts. Ratchet’s cries encourage him, helm bowed to watch their sparks tangle together in beautiful harmony. He looks up, optics meeting Ratchet’s before he slams his mouth against Ratchet’s and buries himself deeply one last time before his own overload takes him. 


	2. Without Me There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same as Chapter 1, but from Ratchet's POV

He was trembling, the clang of his plating loud in his audials as he tried to calm himself, tried to find comfort in his friend. He had died, he remembered dying, could still feel the lingering pain. His optics stared wide ahead of him as he clung to Optimus, trying desperately to calm his venting. He had never shown this weakness to Optimus, their friendship had always had a professional air to it, even with the bickering and snark. But the way Optimus held him now, how he ran his servo up his spinal strut, it felt wrong. Too intimate for them. The protometal of his repaired body stung still, and the pressure along the sensitive metal was enough to make him hiss softly. 

What startled him was when he felt derma press into his audial fin, the shock causing him to invent sharply. Optimus pulled back, optics locked on his face and Ratchet jerked back some. They were wrong, optics that used to be an inspiring blue were now a deep, unsettling blue with edges of purple. What had he said about the false god? Did she do something to Optimus?   
“What- Optimus?” He asks, he could feel his spark twisting as fear rose to the surface. 

Something was horribly wrong and it wasn’t with him but with Optimus. Old medical protocols started to boot up, surprising himself that he still had them. He scans Optimus, no physical changes had been done, except a slight change of kibble. Which meant whatever had been done to Optimus was out of his medical expertise. He has to stop himself from flinching as Optimus brings a hand up to his helm, resting it there. 

He opens his mouth, about to ask Optimus what happened to him before yelping as Optimus slams their mouths together. His servos clench at his chest, trying to push the Prime away. His optics are wide, spark feeling as if to jump into his throat. He tries to tense his body, to reach with numbing servos to try and stop his body from being pushed back into the berth. His body is still weak, having yet to refuel after what felt like a forced stasis and not death. Once Optimus backs off, he tries to scramble backward but it only serves to allow Optimus to crawl over him and sit between his pedes. He stares, horrified as he watches the servos of his friend slide up his thighs before making their way to his chassis. 

“Ah-Optimus! Wait a minute! What are you- ah!” He hates how his voice sounds, hates even more the amused look Optimus gives him as if he were just a shy, virgin bot beneath him. 

The servos that rub into seams act as if they are trying to give pleasure, but the fresh seams don’t know what signals to send his processor and so it's a blurred line of pain and pleasure. He throws his helm back against the berth and tries to keep his vocalizer quiet but its too much, abortive little sounds leave him. He offlines his optics, servos trying to grab and push Optimus servos off of his chassis but he’s no match for the well-fed prime. Then he feels the pressure shift, the servos pushing down his body, and he onlines his optics just in time to see Optimus leaning toward him again. The press of derma against his has him trembling, how far was this going to go? The rocking of hips and the subsequent grind of panels against each other had his spark sinking and dread coiling up his backstrut. He gasps, trying to arch his hips up and away from Optimus but all it does is give the Prime opportunity to run his servos down between them. 

He whimpers as he hears the unmistakable swish of an interface panel transforming away, only partly thankful it wasn’t his yet. However, it's the way Optimus servos wander around his panel that has him trying to twist away. As Optimus pulls back yet again and gives him enough space, he shoves his servos between his panel and searching hands. They’re grabbed almost instantly, a tutting sound coming from Optimus as he pins them over his helm. He tries to struggle, baring his denta at Optimus before his derma closes in a thin line and his optics dim. There’s an electric buzz beginning around the seams of his panel and he hates it more than anything else as Optimus fondles him.

“I know you are eager but let me take care of you, my dear.” It’s spoken with a purr, voice far deeper and laced with lust then he had ever wanted to hear from Optimus. 

He’s then being devoured again, derma hungrily moving against his own. Every part of him is telling him to fight, that he wouldn’t have let this go on any further if this had happened before but another part of him knows. He knows he’s too weak to fight and that Optimus is too far gone to listen and so, with one final tensing of his plating he falls limp. The moan that vibrates his helm has him trembling. With giving up, so do his panels. They slide away easily, revealing his spike housing and damp valve to Optimus demanding servo.

He whimpers as two large fingers force themselves inside his valve, jolting as they hit something far too close to the entrance of his valve. He was sealed. How was he sealed? Panic surfaces again, had this been Optimus' plan the whole time? Or did the protometal simply do too good of a job restoring his body? He vents hard as Optimus pulls from the kiss, nipping down his jawplating before stopping at his neck. He tenses just slightly before gasping and squirming as he feels the sensitive cable being bitten.

“O-Optimus..! Please, stop..why are you doing this?” He tries, squirming as he feels those fingers rubbing along the seal but not breaking it. 

He vents in relief, thinking for the briefest of moments he had gotten the Prime’s attention as the other leans back and pulls his servo out of his valve. He looks up at Optimus, optics hopeful before realization dawns. He watches, frozen, as Optimus brings the servo that had been inside his valve to his own spike. The spike is large in comparison to his frame, but to Optimus it was proportional. His optics are wide, he was only 24 feet, while Optimus now appeared to be much larger than when he last saw him, possibly 30 to 32 feet tall instead of his old 28 feet tall. 

The spike was not only large but thick, it would take a lot of prep for a non-sealed bot to take but for an underprepared and sealed bot? He whimpers, trying to close his legs but he isn’t fast enough, Optimus is already leaned over him and growling like some feral mechanimal and pressing that large head against his valve. He arches up and away, trying to prevent that monster of a spike from going into him. He is slammed back into the berth by the servo that had held the spike, Optimus digits denting the still solidifying protometal of his hip. He throws his helm back, mouth hanging open and optics wide as the painful burning stretch of that spike stabbing into him takes up all of his processing power. 

He gives a sudden cry of pain as white-hot zigs up his spinal strut as his seal breaks, helm tilting downward to try and see just how much more he had to take. He can feel energon leaking down his aft already. By the time Optimus stops pushing into him and simply settles over the other with a moan he only has half of that massive spike inside him. He whimpers, turning his helm away as his servos are released, grappling numbly at Optimus shoulders. He feels Optimus bump their chassis together as if asking for him to open. He grits his denta, about to call his once friend some very inappropriate words, before he loses his train of thought. The dragging feel of Optmius pulling out distracts him as that spike rubs and ignites old sensory nodes he hadn’t used in a very long time. 

A servo on his chassis goes ignored, even as it brings back the pain-pleasure in favor of the feeling of Optimus’ spike sliding in and out of him. Each thrust in he can feel the monstrous spike sinking in deeper and deeper, aided by his energon and the slick his valve produces. It doesn’t take long for Optimus to be pushing fully into him before pulling out nearly entirely, then slamming into him with such a force it rocks the berth. Each jolt of his body has his valve squeezing around Optimus spike, processor slowly shutting down any higher function and he doesn’t know if its because he is enjoying the deep stretch or if its to protect himself. The burning friction along his inner thighs and aft is a distant distraction and he barely registers that there will be paint transfers when this is over. 

A scolding hot glossa running up the center seam of his chassis has him gasping and trembling as the plating opens almost excitedly. What had the other done to his body that made it not obey him? He cries out as his light illuminates between them, a sob forcing its way past his derma as cleaner fluid builds up in his optics. He offlines them as the hiss of transformation rings in his audials and barely catches a second light joining his own. He doesn’t want this, his servos now trying again to desperately push at the other’s shoulders as his plating begins to lock up. It’s coming, the overload of a lifetime is fast approaching, made faster as Optimus picks up his pace and seems to almost jackhammer his valve. 

The new pace has desperate sounds crackling from his vocalizer, plating beginning to tingle and buzz before he is distracted by a servo grabbing his chin roughly. He onlines his optics as his helm is forced to look up to Optimus, optical fluid running freely down his faceplates as he sees Optimus deep purple eyes and face twisted in pleasure. He sobs again, servos trembling and thighs trying to close even though they just squeeze around Optimus' waist. He wants to disappear, the deep thrusts into his new valve hurt, the pain floating just under the surface of the forced pleasure. Betrayal on such an intimate level with someone he may have done this willingly with at one point. His vents hitch as he sees something pass through Optimus’ eyes. Was it regret? He wanted to laugh, he doubted this Optimus would feel that anymore. 

He then cries out, only to choke on it as he feels an invading presence tangling with his spark. The feeling of their spark energies merging is nothing short of ecstasy, no matter if he wants to merge or not, the overwhelming pleasure that is passed through their now connected souls has him moaning in tandem with Optimus. Once his helm is free he turns away, offlining his optics again to try and escape the pleasure but it only serves to heighten it as now it's all he feels. Arms wrapping under his arched back pull him closer to Optimus and not only forces their sparks closer but angles Optimus to hit his ceiling node deadon. 

The relentless assault of his deepest node with a punishing pace has him whimpering and moaning, the feel of crackling charge zipping from his plating to Optimus has him wrapping his pedes around the others waist and servos gripping shoulder plating so hard he can just barely hear it bend under the pressure. He grins, proud he was able to cause some form of damage, even if its cosmetic before his optics online sharply and his vocalizer turns to pure static as he feels his valve cycle down and red hot pleasure ignites his body. He feels the gush of his own transfluid around Optimus spike and trembles as Optimus only seems to speed up. Each thrust now has a static cry leaving him, body locking up in exhaustion. 

He looks down, seeing the top of Optimus helm as he watches their sparks mingle. The energy, Ratchet realizes, is a deep purple- almost magenta. Optimus change was not only mental, but spark deep. He whimpers as Optimus snaps his helm up, a cruel smile meant to be comforting on his face with optics filled with obsession lock with his own. He then gasps one last time as Optimus slams their derma together, devouring and dominating his mouth as he feels that spike bury itself as deeply as it can before something to hot explodes within his valve and fills him to the brim. 

He tries to hold onto consciousness, but the overwhelming fullness, the physical and mental exhaustion and his desire to return to the well has his body falling into a deep recharge. The last thing he hears is Optimus voice, a haunting reminder that he would never get free of this.

“I’ll never let you go again, my Ratchet.”


	3. This Devil Inside Of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet wakes up the next day, alone and aching. Yet there is a presence with him, one that accepts him and coaxes him to do something. What is this presence? And why does it seem familiar?

He’s systems sputtered online, stalling with a forced stasis. His plating aches with the phantom touches of familiar yet unwanted servos. His optics are the last to online, the static that laces the edges of his vision only serving to add to his annoyance. He grunts, looking around the room. It was unfamiliar, not the medical bay he had been in. This looked like a personal hubsuite, not the dreaded ship kind either as he spots a large window on the far end of the wall. With his joints protesting he sits up stiffly, face cringing as delicate wires and tubing are pinched in the process. He vents as he swings his pedes over the side, half-offlining his optics as his visuals swim and the room distorts. 

As the room returns to normal and he places his pedes on the ground, a ping dances into the corner of his vision. He had strained his lower cabling, new internal damage registering. The ping brings with it the dull, throbbing ache between his legs. He leans back, the tips of his pedes breached on the floor and his upper body supported by one servo on the berth. The other servo slides down to his center, nervously tracing where his modesty panel would normally be. His spark twists, body shuddering at the sudden feeling overwhelming his spark. It was a dark feeling like his spark wanted to lash out at the nearest thing and rip it to shreds. He had never been violent, he was a medic, why was his spark now- he’s vents hitch. 

He remembers the purple glow that had bounced off of Optimus’ chest plating, the same haunting purple of the other’s optics. He shakes his helm, trying to force the memory and the feeling that crawled over his plating away. He forced medical programs to cover the cry for revenge his spark craved. He slows his ventilations, pushing a single servo into his valve. The damage was superficial, nothing that would heal on its own and naturally occurring when the seals were popped. His vents shutter, body beginning to tremble as the medical coding picked apart his newly assembled body and, what it registered as an artificial spark. Was he even technically alive? By medical standards, yes- he was conscious and sentient. Yet by those same standards, he was unnatural, what could really apply to him anymore?

His engines growl, denta bared as he pulls his single servo free and pushes off the berth. With his sudden momentum, his body struggles to stay upright, stumbling with servos outstretched before him. They waved in an almost frantic movement, pedes tripping over themselves as he practically collapsed against the windowpane. Vent’s working in overdrive to keep his engines from overheating, his optics flickered as darkness threatened at the corner of his vision to lock him into another stasis. 

A moment with his helm pressed to the window, optics dimming, he slowly felt his surroundings fall away. Distantly he could hear the hum of the energy through the building, feel the buzz as the living energy crackled through the room. It seemed to reach out, the ancient yet familiar caress of  **home** and  **safe** enveloped him. His optics offlined, audials deafening as the force that once coursed through Cybertron now circled around him in a comforting embrace. He could feel the guilt in its caress, feel the sorrow as it held him as if he could break. Clear fluid gathered in his optics, a choked sob leaving him as he slid down the wall. 

“I...I don’t... _ why _ ?” His voice trembled, exposing how weak he felt, how pathetic he was to crumble. To succumb to this yet had lived through the war without breaking. 

“I’m not even...real..my  **spark** , it-it is  _ wrong _ . It’s  _ corrupted _ .  **Artificial** .” His words were bitter, anger bubbling from his spark and warming his plating, pistons tensing as if preparing to lunge at some unseen enemy and plating closing tight around him. 

Yet the energy around him remained soothing, gently pressing into his plating and slipping between to coax pistons to relax. It eased the pain from his frame, vent’s which had sputtered and stalled slowly returned to normal. It did not judge him, only offered a kind touch and a presence that seemed infinitely accepting. It made him want to cry out, to yell spiteful words, and try to make it understand he was no longer Cybertronian. And yet, the presence only seemed to hum around him, easing his audials back to function and coaxing his optics to online. 

HIs optics cycle, clearing of cleaner fluid, as his helm lifts from its bowed position. His vocalizer resets, servos grabbing numbly at the edge of the window pane and pulls, hefting his body into a kneeling position. He stares out into the dark and decaying body of Cybertron, with dilapidated towers and thick clouds of smog. His processor swam, confusion clouding his thoughts as optics swept along the once city-scape. Then from the corner, he caught a light, a flare that peaked around something and drew his attention away from his destroyed homeworld. 

There, beyond the clouds, was a blue and green moon. It floated high in the sky, with a smaller, pale orb and a blinding light coming from behind it. Its familiarity pulled at his mind, a sudden unease creeping along his plating before settling into his spark. But then it clicked and the weight of its knowledge fell into his tanks like a titanium ball, audials producing the echoed words;  _ ‘Brough Cybertron to Earth, to Unicron-’ _ , his body jerked.

Cybertron was in Earth's orbit; Earth was Unicron. If that were the case, if the God of Destruction and Death was real then- everything faded away as the comforting presence, which had dulled to the background, came back. It seemed almost frantic now as if trying to warn him. It felt as if the energy pulled him and he fell backward, away from the window. Yet as he fell backward, he caught the glimpse of a purple light on Earth that blinks steadily. His helm turns numbly, looking around the room as the electric pull continues in a way that makes his spark twist with fear. 

His body turns onto all fours, servos pushing against the floor as he stands on trembling pedes. His audials ring, a deafening and shrill sound that dulls all others. It pulls him towards a door, which slides open before he even reaches it, he does not question it, merely stepping into the smaller room. The door slides shut behind him, bathing him in a near ghastly darkness before the light flickers on. A wash rack is where the pull had led him, yet it still pulled, gently now, towards a bench that sat under a facet. The bemused thought that the spirit of Cybertron merely acted in such a way to have him bathe is enough to rouse a small, almost broken, chuckle from his vocalizer. 

Yet as he cycles his optics he finds himself sitting on the bench, confused on how he got there before he feels the warm solvent pattering gently against his tensed plating. He vents, leaning backward and against the steel wall which gently hums with life as he offlines his optics. The ringing in his audials dulls until it is gone and the steady stream of steadily heating solvent takes up the sound. The energy around him is back to soothing yet he can feel the tense way it moves around him, like a cyber-wolf protecting its new spark. He pushes his field out for the first time since waking, questioning its behavior, questioning why it lingers, but then he hears the swish of the hubsuit door. 

He tenses, jerking upright and servos gripping the bench as the heavy pede-falls walk through the door. He moves to stand yet a gushing between his legs has him choking. With vision blurring he looks down, seeing the pink-colored Energon and silver of nanites that leak from him. He slowly starts to shake his helm, was this one reason it wanted him in here? To clean himself? As if answering, the facet head clicks, signaling its disconnection from its perch. He slowly looks up, blinking through the water as he sees the head dangling now. Then another click draws his attention, this time it comes from the door and he silently pleads to not see Optimus in the doorway. 

Yet the door is closed, the red light of the panel indicating a lock had been put in place. He then looks back up, silently for a moment for any more sounds, and when hearing none, reaches up. His servo grips the facet, pulling it down to himself. The stream relaxes his plating as it runs over him, yet dread burrows its way into his spark. He knew what he needed to do, he had too, artificial spark or not, leaving the nanites and old Energon inside could lead to an infection. Though he had died hiding cowardly, he refused to die again due to an infection that could be avoided. 

With a shaking servo, he guided the facet lower, the stream hitting his inner thigh and causing him to jump. His spark twisted, nausea gripping his tanks as a whine worked its way through his vocalizer. The room narrowed to pinpricks and he could hear rather than feel his ventilations overwork themselves. It took an invisible pressure on his shoulders to pull him from his mind, which had transformed the patterning of solvent into digits spreading his thighs apart. Cycling his optics, he regained his sight, vents still uneven yet less rapid as he tilted the facet to spray his pede. 

“It has to be done, damnit.” He quietly growls to himself, frustration overtaking his fear even as his servo trembled and refused to move. 

He gritted his denta, free servo clenching before rising into the air, ready to slam either into himself or the bench, until the presence wrapped around him. It coaxed him to gently lower his servo and seemed to plead to give himself some understanding, to be gentle to himself. He choked again, did he deserve that kindness? He hadn’t chosen to come back nor to have Optimus...He shook his helm. He knew the presence was right, that if the roles were refused and he was trying to help some other bot deal with this he would say the same thing the presence seemed to pass to him with mere emotion. 

He moved his servo to his thigh, legs spreading slowly, and leaned back against the wall. The servo which held the facet moved, slowly running the warm solvent up his pede before stopping again at his inner thigh. He took a deep vent, free servo moving to his valve lips. At first, they rested against it, before gently pushing between the soft metal and barely dipped inside. They then spread him open, the cool air caressing him caused a shiver to run up his backstrut. The process of cleaning onto self should be pleasurable, yet when the solvent finally hit his valve the flicker of pleasure merely twisted his tanks further. 

A gasp leaves him as he pushes the facet closer, angling it to spray inside him. His body arches, another whine leaving him as he pushes his fingers in deeper, trying to open himself more to allow the cleansing solvent to do its job. The comforting presence doesn’t help anymore, merely adding to the sensation and bringing pleasure to the forefront. He turns his helm away, whimpering as his servo holding himself open rubs accidentally against his anterior node. It’s enough to have his legs trembling again, vents shuttering as his hips move in an unmistakable motion. 

The servo which holds the facet pushes it close, his helm lolling to the side and optics looking down to see the water beginning to run clean. Yet it's at this new angle that the stream hits his interior node and his spike is suddenly pressurizing. He cries out, gasping and looking down horrified as the tip of his spike has a bead of nanites on it. Shame briefly overcame the pleasure, disgust filling his tanks and causing him to gag. Yet the presence, which had yet to pull away, only pressed down on him further, seeming to try and convince him to  _ enjoy _ his own touch. To enjoy the pleasure that cleaning caused just for this moment. 

And so, the servo that spread him retreated, digits giving a short circle around his anterior node before wrapping around the base. Perhaps the moan that left him and the rise of pleasure at the act of doing this with another presence with him was some leftover depravity from Optimus. At least that is what he told himself as he ran his servo along his spike, and pressed the stream more firmly against his valve. The pressure of the stream increased as if the presence willed it too. A cry left him, mouth hanging open as cleaner fluid streaked down his faceplates.

His spark swelled, pulsing and pushing back against the unseen presence, begging for recuperation. He practically sobbed with pleasure as it pressed back seemingly without a second thought, energy crackling along his plating. It licked along cables, seemed to put pressure on all the right places until a blinding hot fire overtook his vision and his body arched upward almost painfully. 

The clanking of the facet head being dropped barely registers as he falls limp, vents panting as he tries to focus his optics. His body buzzes with pleasure, spike spent, and limp against his thigh as his valve clenches around nothing. He resets his vocalizer, sitting up slowly and having to suppress a whine as his oversensitive valve comes into contact with the bench. He reaches down, servo trembling with the aftershocks of overload, and grabs the facet. As he is benthic optics wander over his frame, now only his own nanites cover his thighs. His vents shutter, leaning back against the wall as he runs the now gentle patter of solvent along his body to wash away the evidence. 

The presence, which now gently pressed around him, slowly began to pull away. He reached out, pleading for it not to leave him and yet it only responded with sorrowful regret. The first thought was that it regretted what they had technically done, yet he could feel the anger shimmering just under the surface that it seemed to try to hide. Anger and Fear, but not for itself but for him. Confusion raked his processor before he heard the tapping as if someone on the other side of the wash rack door was drumming their servo impatiently. 

Instantly, he knew. He still tried to beg the presence to stay, yet it fled as the red light on the panel turned to yellow then green. It sent one, final apology, before lifting altogether as the door swung open. A new presence filled the room, a suffocating energy that harshly invaded the room without giving any thought to it being welcomed. He threw himself further against the wall, dropping the facet and scrambling to cover himself as Optimus stepped into the room. Deep purple optics stared heavily at him, the weight nearly making his spark give out with its mere look. 

“Ratchet.” His name coming from that voice, that rumbling voice that hung heavy with venomous lust was enough to send him into a blind panic. 


End file.
